


The Sword of Mercy

by novicescribe



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Mages and Templars, Major Original Character(s), Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 13:34:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5628421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novicescribe/pseuds/novicescribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Tale of the Champion has been written. It is up to history to pass judgement. However, history usually is written focused on the great and powerful or the great mass of nameless individuals. Life is more complex, than either and their are many side-characters playing their parts. Thanks to a flagrant violation of copyright...ehm, creative reworking of Varric Thethras' story everyone has a chance to get a glimpse of that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Marijn](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Marijn).



> This is my first ever fanfiction, written back in 2013. I've decided not to publish it, but on the advice and encouragement of some friends I finally decided to change my mind. This should have been an elaborate story, at least a 100 thousand words long, but this is how much got actually written. The basic idea was to elaborate on the original story through the introduction of new characters, adventures and adding the point of view of some major characters who - in my opinion - didn't get to show their side of the story strongly enough (Knight-Commander Meredith and Viscount Marlowe Dumar included).
> 
> Some of the more important details:
> 
> 1\. The Warden in Origins was a male elf, who became the Hero of Ferelden and Warden-Commander.  
> 2\. Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall has not defeated the Qunari invasion yet. In fact, the story begins just some time before the Arishok's attempt to take over. 
> 
> WARNING: Permanently discontinued. 
> 
> Well...rights. And wrongs. They all belong to those who were steadfast in committing them. Mine is simply the pleasure of indulging in them.

**Recommendation by the editors** :

As we have written in the foreword to the 13th edition of our work, ’The Tales of the Dragon Age, as told by Varric Thetras’ the great storyteller could not have had any idea that his tale – told to an audience of Orlesian dukes, barons and baronesses – has been diligently transcribed by a young man in the audience, with the aim of preserving it for posterity – a story if not altering, but supplementing his published work on the Champion. According to the transcriptor the splendid balls, festivities and hunting all thrown at the honour of the now famous – or infamous as some prefer – Varric Thetras took as long as 40 days and 40 nights, and the _Unimeron_ took as many to be told to an awed audience. Now, many years later we would like to once again repeat the commendation of the 1st edition to Varic the Taleteller: ’With your words, to your honour, but to our purse.’ Thank you Messere Thetras! – the editors.

 

**Foreword** :

They say that memories are what make us who we are. They also say, that for this very reason memories should be recorded, analysed, and passed on to those coming after us, so they can utilise them for their own life. I however say, that it is not the memories, but how we remember them is what matters. A grown man looks back to his childhood utterly differently, than he used to at the age of twenty, and than he will at the age of sixty (provided he lives long enough to have the opportunity to do so). Templars, mages, kings and queens, divines and dragons, demons and spirits...they all claim to know power, and to wield it themselves. The ancient archons of Tevinter did so, the Kings of Antiva did so, and so does Sissy at the Hanged Man, not exactly graciously exclaiming: 'You think those twits in Hightown are any better than me, just because their great-great grandmother was lucky enough to fuck some noble, whose father gained his precious little title in a mercenary band, slaughtering the innocent folk? Just try to pack 'em all up and send 'em to the Gallows and see how long this city can run itself. Now let's say that I don't come to work for a week, stripping all my gentle patrons of their ale and bed-time activities, and you'll have a rebellion on your hand by the Monday! That is real power! Now get out of my way before I knock you down with this pint!' Real power however lies in shaping their stories to the form you'd like: in ages past, when none of them lives any more, one only needs to be silent about them and it would seem as if they never ever lived. Valiant knights can be transformed to greedy mercenaries, and pillaging and looting bandits to gallant defenders of freedom overnight.

 Take the example of that hapless lot Viscount Perrin Threnhold. Most people say he was a villain unparalleled in the nasty chapters of Kirkwall's history, a tyrant never seen, and it was a deliverance when the Knight-Commander had him thrown to jail, and – according to some uncharitable souls - hastened his death, while a band of dedicated followers celebrate him as a hero of this city, a paragon of freedom. I just say he was not good enough at the game. Or – if you prefer – think of the Champion of Kirkwall, everyone knows him, yet no one knows really anything about him. That is why I told his story, and that is why I tell this one. Some would say it is entirely pointless to dwell on those, whose names have been forgotten, who have been pushed out of the pantheon to make more place to the great heroes and villains, yet precisely these people are those whose will and choices hammered out the boundaries of that realm: 'So far, and not further!' Without them the great leaders would have had to lead themselves alone – a terrible fate for any general indeed. Besides...every show needs a sequel, if for nothing else, then for the extra pints one can earn with them.

Once more I shall summon the ghosts of those people, who stood close to the centre of hurricane that gripped the Free March city of Kirkwall in the years 9:30-37 Dragon, the mighty, and the less mighty, their lieutenants and the actors whose names are already forgotten. The Champion himself with his friends, Knight-Commander Meredith, First Enchanter Orsino, Grand Cleric Elthina and all their accomplices beg for your attention once more. A familiar act should follow, yet if you find your joy in a remake, once more you may enjoy, seeing and hearing the mighty fall. Who am I? I am Varric Thetras at your service, storyteller, diamond back player and the most handsome dwarf from here to Par Vollen. Listen to the story if you may, and may be pleased by this humble tale.[1]

 

Characters (as of yet, in order of appearance):

 

  * **Varric Thetras** (for those few fools or old men, who have never heard of him), an astute observer, ephemeral lover and a storyteller outshining Jeshavis herself, he was descended from a prominent noble line in Orzammar. Born on the surface, Varric spent most of his free time with his forever companion, Bianca and with patrons enchanted by his stories in the tavern dedicated to the _Hanged Man_ , a cultic place of Kirkwall’s ‘low society’.[2]
  * **Ser Herbert Gwent** , Knight-Lieutenant of the Templar Order, on duty in Kirkwall. Commonly called the 'jester knight'. A jovial and friendly man, Ser Herbert can nevertheless offend many people with a joke others might consider inappropriate at any time. A learned scholar and believer he struggles to find the slim tread on which reason leads to faith.
  * **Ser Ella** , a junior knight of the Order, clearly one of the supporting cast.
  * **Ser Cullen** , the pious and compassionate Knight-Captain of the Templar Order, on duty in Kirkwall since 9:31 Dragon. Cullen’s carrier has progressed on an extraordinary curve from a farmer’s boy in the Western Hills to becoming Knight-Captain in the Kirkwall Templar Order, second-in-command to the fierce Knight-Commander. A man seeking the truth and certainty both he finds those two to be equally essential and in violent conflict most of the time.
  * **Thoren Stonehand** , commonly called Thoren 'Stonehead' by his fellow merchants in the Kirkwall Dwarven Merchant Guild, dealing in lyrium trade.
  * **Elsa** , one of the most efficient – and accordingly, most terrifying – of the tranquils, personal secretary to Knight-Comannder Meredith.
  * **Seneschal Bran,** having been born son of a minor Kirkwall noble, seneschal Bran is the very model of the ideal occupant of Kirkwall’s second most important post, being not only Secretary but the Principal adviser to the Viscount **.**
  * **Ser Meredith** , the equally dreaded and respected (depends on who you ask really) Knight-Commander of the Kirkwall Templar Order, the subject of many praises, insults and 'the strict templar and the naughty apprentice' fantasies.
  * **Grand Cleric Elthina of Kirkwall** ; an orphan of Kirkwall, she became a sister of the Chantry, and was appointed Grand Cleric by Divine Beatrix III herself three decades ago. A person believing in tolerance, love between people and reconciliation over conflict, she is instrumental in holding the warring factions together, and enjoys unshakable authority for her genuine efforts to attain satisfying peace for everyone.
  * **Lord Marlowe Dumar** , Viscount of Kirkwall, Baron of the Green Plains, Lord of Tarnismere, first of the House of Dumar on the Kirkwall throne. Serving as ruler of the city for more than a decade he is the most powerless man in it.
  * **Lord Gunther,** an ambitious and energetic young noble with conclusive ideas about the running of the city, believing in their validity as much as he believes that he is the only one who could run it city properly.
  * **Ser Marianne Selbrech** , a ‘serving noble’ from a minor house in the City of Kirkwall. As head of the House of Selbrech she is devoted to her master, Lord Gunther and is determined to see her family’s fortune rising.



Happens in 9:34, Dragon Age.

 

[1] As we have written in the foreword of the 13th edition of our work, ’The Tales of the Dragon Age, as told by Varric Thetras’ the great storyteller could not have had an idea that his tale – told to an audience of Orlesian dukes, barons and baronesses – has been diligently transcribed by a young man in the audience, with the aim of preserving it for posterity. According to the transcriptor, the splendid balls, festivities and hunting all thrown at the honour of the now famous – or infamous as some prefer – Varric Thetras took as long as 40 days and 40 nights, the _Unimeron_ took as many to be told to an awed audience. Now, many years later we would like to once again repeat the commendation of the 1st edition to Varic the Taleteller: ’With your words, to your honour, but to our purse.’

[2] Long did many people try to find out about the origins, composition and other characteristics of the crossbow known as Bianca. Bards, assassins, kings and queens have all failed to induce Varric Thetras into telling them anything about his most precious Bianca, and others who have succeeded found the tales so believable that they were obviously false. To this day, no one except for Varric Thetras knows her true story. – the editors.


	2. The jester knight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Templar-Lieutenant Herbert Gwent is given a new task by Knight-Captain Cullen, one which involves vital interests of the Templar Order. Is this the start of a new adventure?

_’I come no more to make you laugh: things now,_  
That bear a weighty and a serious brow,  
Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe,  
Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow,  
We now present.’

_(Shakespeare, King Henry VIII, Prologue)_

I.

 _’The Chant is your Beacon, your cunning is the fence and your heart is the light’._ This was his favourite passage. The Chant of Light was full of vivid allegories and inspiring pictures, tales of seeking the Truth, redemption – or just something to make life barely bearable for the legions of mistreated. ’It would be very amusing indeed, if only it were not entirely bigoted.’ – summarized his father his rather unkind opinion on the holy book of the Great Chantry of Andraste, Bride of the Maker, Redeemer of Mankind to a rather relentless saleswoman – and revered mother – once. Not exactly an opinion one could expect from a future templar. The Order was not a hospital for the free minded and liberal pursuers of knowledge after all. Whatever its objective merits, the Chant was a powerful and influential text, not entirely without practical teachings. Even the father granted so much, the son admitted its spirit into his own with much less reluctance. ’ _For that steady thine ears and brace your soul/for he knows what is wrong and what is right/he will find the truth, he who looks forth’_.

This verse was his canon, the slim rope that lead him to accept his fate, and to eventually embrace it with sincerity and enthusiasm. It reminded him of so many things, the terrifying monumentalism of the White Spire, the steel cold – and equally terrifying – politeness of the tranquils, the brutality of Knight-Lieutenant Tammer, the hostile gazes of the other recruits…and the nights he spent in the Circle’s Library with Edric and Enchanter Thebault. They shared the love of knowledge, his longing for a more compassionate way, and they even had their own – violently differing – versions of how it could be brought about. They have found the verse in an old print of the Chant, from the Glory Age (what other treasures those dust covered shelves might hold?) and it remained imprinted in all their minds ever since. His thoughts wandered away, just for a moment. Where could they be? What had become of them? Did Edric become the senior knight, a pillar of the order he was destined to be? Was the old Thebault still alive? So many questions, and so few answers – something a Templar could be quite used to by then, for however definite their articles of faith may have seemed, they were like a Chantry building: impressive, even when stripped bare, proud, but as differing in their substance, as the people who lent the meaning to them.

He liked to pray, it was a time of deepening, of self-improvement. ’I could continue to chant until my throat grows dry and my body stiff, and for all the steps I have taken I would not be closer to the answer.’ – he thought with some malice. He continued – or more precisely, would have continued were it not for the knight standing by him. He did not notice the stark blast of sound as metal clashed with stone as the knight approached.

’Excuse me Ser…’ – began a somewhat shaky voice, obviously at unease at disturbing the prayer. ’the Knight-Captain has sent for you. He requires your presence urgently.’ The knight not so long before entirely engulfed in the world of thoughts and emotions stood up and stood at face to his fellow knight. He took the moment to measure messenger. It was a young one, a woman named Ser Ella, 26 at the time, one of his own recruits who just became full member of the order last week.

’It’s all right – he said gently to easy her tension at disturbing her superior in his private time – it always is. We are templars after all.’ She let out a short chuckle, before she could realize and stop it.

’Would you care to lead the way?’ – he asked.

’Of course Ser, that way if you please.’ – she said as she began walking towards the great door at the end of the hall. ’ _The brief pause to catch some air is over, so it seems.’_ – he thought as he returned to the mundane world.

The Gallows – despite its rather unpleasant past, and still unpleasant present functions – was one of the busiest parts of the city. Every day from dawn to sunset, hundreds of people – mages, tranquils, templars, merchants, and ordinary citizens who – who had one or other (usually, other) kind of business swarmed the fortress, filling it with their movements, sights and loud talk. ' _Rather popular for a prison._ ' - thought Ser Herbert as he walked down the stairs, leading from the Templar quarters to the main courtyard.[1] True indeed, the complex of Tevinter origins that served as headquarters for the Kirkwall Circle of Magi – and thus, to the Templars, who kept guard there – was rivalled in popularity only by those two most majestic establishments, the Hanged Man and the Blooming Rose. One could say that it was a rather unsurprising development, if it were not for the fact that one could hardly find anyone with a claim to respectability who had visited either of them (that is until one tried to ask a person about another one).

Summer now was in full spring, a rather befitting term considering that the weather was truly spring like, the moderate warmth being interrupted from time to time by severe raining and storms. Seagulls flew over the Gallows, all the time, a clear reminder that the city was situated by the seaside (if the salty fresh air wasn't enough for one to reach that rather obvious conclusion). Some even attempted to land to the greatest possible consternation of those mages and templars who somehow managed to bring the full weight of the wrath of their respective superiors upon their heads, and had been assigned to cleaning duties. ' _Being a mage can be useful sometimes, whatever the Libertarians say_ – Ser Herbert concluded to himself – _you just send a fire blaze towards the wretched creatures and roast them as your dinner, preventing them from giving you a hard time with the stinky droppings in the same instance._ ' A small grin surfaced on his face as he imagined what Knight-Commander Meredith would say if she had learned about that innovative way of performing cleaning-up duties. 'At least the walls and statutes did not mind.' - he mused to himself.

Ser Ella was now walking steady, looking straight ahead, trying to look as confident and assured as any templar should. They arrived to the courtyard level and spotted Ser Cullen instantly. He was standing just by the central stairs apparently trying to calm down some rather angry dwarves. _'Fortitude indeed was an essential templar trait, and it seems he needed a lot of it.'_ \- Sir Herbert thought. He had known Ser Cullen for four years now, in which time he rose from the rank of a simple knight to that of Knight-Captain, and second-in-command to the Knight-Commander herself, thus producing one of the swiftest ascensions on the ladder in the history of the order. _'Perfectly deserved.'_ \- he thought. Cullen was his age, and now his superior, but he felt no resentment at all. Even the staunchest enemies of the Knight-Captain admired his cool judgement, his complete devotion to the order, his fighting skills and his patient temperament, as he directed his full attention to any problem, examining it thoroughly, yet always remaining confident that an acceptable solution can be found.

He especially admired that while Cullen had first-hand experience with abominations, blood mages and even torture, having been at Kinloch Hold during Uldred's rebellion, and the tremendous pressure he had to face in Kirkwall after his transfer, the Knight-Captain has still seemed to retain a human touch; the hope that whatever happened and whatever was to happen, it would still work out in the end for the best, if only everyone in the Order, Circle and Chantry had done their best. He was known to be the only one the seclusive Knight-Commander truly trusted, not the least because she was convinced that Cullen shared her interpretation of the duties of the Order and because she felt that his experiences at Uldred's hands have left him susceptible to a strong distrust towards mages. Whatever the appearance, one only had to listen, truly listen, to ascertain, that the Knight-Captain indeed had a strong sense of justice, directed by his honest desire to do what was best for everyone in the large total. _'Sometimes it seems that he wonders as well what that exactly would entail' –_ thought Ser Herbert as he and his young guide have approached the Knight-Captain.

'Knight-Captain, I've brought Ser Herbert here as ordered, sir.' - said the previously unsteady templar trying hard to hide the tone of nervousness in her voice.

'Thank you Ser Ella, that would be all. Dismissed.' - said Cullen, seeming glad that he could finally begin to solve this matter.

'Yes, Sir.' – Ser Ella replied, then turned on heels and marched away.

'Knight-Captain, I am at your service.' - Herbert reported on duty.

‘Welcome Ser Herbert, I am sorry to have disturbed you in your deliberations, but I am afraid we have to face another crises.’

‘So let us get to it sir, the sooner we deal with it, the sooner we can focus on all the other mischief.’ The Knight-Captain let out a painful sigh. ‘Yes, we can only do so much.’

‘On the Ancestor’s beards, get to it already you two!’ – the two Templars heard an angry shout interrupting their conversation. ‘I was told by your senechal or whatever you call that incapable fancy dressed word twister, that I should bring this matter to your precious order and that you are a most efficient force. Efficient like nug droppings in the proving grounds I would say.’ ‘This dwarf surely has never had to take care of a matter himself, he seems to be accustomed to shouting orders and everyone blindly obeying. Perhaps this experience shall teach him something.’ – Cullen thought. He looked at the Knight-Lieutenant standing straight ahead of him, apparently encapsulated in a demanding effort of holding back a rather vivid smile. Ser Herbert liked to make sarcastic comments or fabricate witty jokes, and no doubt the angry dwarf’s performance inspired him greatly. Perhaps he came up with another ‘the dwarf merchant, the elf mage and the human Templar walks into the Grand Cathedral’ joke.[2]

The dwarf would probably have to collect his jaw from the ground then, before storming off. ‘ _That would be amusing, but hardly becoming the Order.’ – Cullen thought to himself. Luckily, Ser Herbert knew how to restrain himself, when it concerned his duties._ ’ So he did. After a short moment, the emerging smile faded off entirely of Ser Herbert’s face, and he just asked politely ‘Do you have anything else to add to the report you have given to the Knight-Captain about the incident?’ ‘Soddin’ no, I have told him – he pointed to Cullen - everything in detail. But by Caridin’s hammer, if you are not going to take care of this business soon enough, I will have all the dwarves on their toes against your city. I will, you shall see.’ – with that, he stormed off, muttering to himself about the genuine ungratefulness of humans.

‘That was a merry message.’ – Ser Herbert remarked.

‘Just let us hope that we can resolve this issue before it twists further.’ – the Knight-Captain replied. ‘Now, that our esteemed applicant had seen it prudent to leave, we can finally focus on resolving the situation.’

'Quite so sir, we shall prepare, stand at our post, for with time their fortune grows.' - Ser Herbert replied. 'Takitos?' - Ser Cullen asked. 'Shahkspar, sir.'[3] \- a rivaini from the Blessed Age; his poems are really excellent. - replied Ser Herbert doing his best to keep his voice as gentle as possible, to avoid the impression of either patronizing or trying to educate his superior.

'You and your reading Ser Herbert.' - Cullen said with a tone that suggested that he had tons of weight on his shoulders. 'Some of our brothers and sisters would insist that a templar needs nothing but faith, and dedication to duty. Some would even claim, that reading anything but the Chant is not only devoid of meaningful purpose, but most likely dangerous, and condemnable.'

'Shall I point out to them that despite my like for the written word, I have never failed in my duty sir?' - Ser Herbert asked. '

That is so indeed, and that is why I entrust this task to you. Not much is clear about the whole affair, but as much as I could determine, it poses serious danger to both the city, and the order. It is connected with lyrium.'

' _So that is it' _(Ser Herbert sighed internally) _'the one great weak spot of our reputation. Not many people care about mages abused by unruly templars or apostates declared melaficarum and slain on the spot without dropping as much as one spill of blood until the sword runs them through, but when it comes to retired templars leading coeterie bands to get their hands on lyrium, or serving knights selling the substance for a great price, even that unready Viscount raises his head.'_ Cullen spotted the wrinkles on Ser Herbert's face, the lifted eyebrow and the raised hands on the chest and swiftly added:

'I do not have to say, not to you Knight-Lieutenant – he used the official title of his junior templar – that this business is of the highest importance to the Order. If we – you – do not deal with it subtly and efficiently, it can do great harm to our reputation, and through to that of the Chantry as a whole.'

'Yes sir, I will do my best.' - Ser Herbert said.

'Now – Cullen continued – the dwarf who reported the incident said that he had hired about two dozen armed escorts, dwarves from the Carta, street folk from the Coterie and even some Qunari.' The Knight-Captain stressed this last word strongly. Ever since the Qunari have landed, not a day have passed without a rumour of their secret plots to seize the city. Serious men dismissed these out of the air of course, but one could not help to feel uneasy in the presence of hundreds of the giant bull-like creatures, who were known to be most determined and skilled warriors throughout Thedas.

 There already happened several incidents between the unwanted guests and the civilian population of the city, and the templars were not quite eager to give any more reason to the Arishok to seize upon, if he were inclined to launch an open attack. That was especially so as the situation with the mages kept deteriorating rapidly.

'Despite this, - Cullen continued - the cargo was seized during a single night, disappearing along all the guards, and the city guard's investigation ground to a halt after a week, finally declaring that this whole affair was none of their business. The dwarf said that the cargo was last deposited in a cave on the Wounded Coast.I want you to take a squad with you and investigate the place. As you know we have made it public that we are now making a fresh effort at haunting apostates all around the city, and as Lowtown, and even Sundermount is getting raided, no one shall be the wiser about the purpose of your operation or shall suspect a group of templars at the Wounded Coast.' The whole case seemed curious at best, and Ser Herbert was just as eager to finally close it as weary of what it might hold. 

'Understood Ser Cullen, I shall set out in two hours.' - Ser Herbert declared. 

'Good, I expected just so.' - Cullen was just about to dismiss his subordinate and finally turn his attention to less unpleasant matters, but apparently Ser Herbert did not regard the matter settled just yet. 

'There is something else Ser.' 

'What is it Ser Herbert?'

'I will need Pollard.' 

'Pollard?

' 'Yes, Ser. He is quite capable in tracking leads, furthermore, he is experienced in healing and shielding magics. Whatever we are dealing with, has finished off two dozen guards, all more or less experienced warriors, without leaving a single trace. I would regard a precaution or two a wise expedient.'  _'The Knight-Commander will not like this. Not a single bit of it.'_ 'Is it your opinion that we can rest assured of his loyalty?' 'Absolutely, Ser. I would vouch for him with my life.'  _'Indeed you will, shall your trust prove misplaced. Knight-Commander Meredith is not forgiving towards those who fail in choosing their allies adequately.'_

'Very well, I shall make the arrangements with the Knight-Commander. You have my permission to notify Pollard that you will requires his assistance.' 'Thank you Ser.' 'Dismissed.' Ser Herbert turned and began walking back to his quarters to finish his prayers. Gloomy thoughts accompanied him as he ascended the stairs, clinging to the faint hope that this shall be a routine task after all. An equally uneasy Cullen felt the same way as he stood in the middle of the low courtyard, wondering for a moment before leaving to ’sell the goods’ to Knight-Commander Meredith.

[1] The other Gallows courtyard that is where Hawke and his associates have stayed just after they first arrived to the city.

[2] Sister Adela from the Starkhaven Chantry left to posterity this piece of Ser Herbert’s in her journal. ’Solace 7, 9:38 Dragon: Today a contingent of templars have arrived from Kirkwall to assess if the Starkhaven circle could be re-formed in the near future. The Grand Cleric – no friend of the late Knight-Commander of Kirkwall – has given them a rather frosty welcome at noon, after which we all proceeded to launch. The mood was still very icy, everyone avoiding any touchy topic, the little talk that went on, concerned the food. Then all of a sudden the templar leader, Ser Herbert (sitting next to Knight-Commander Arathorn) has astonished her grace – and everyone else – by telling a rather unorthodox tale. ’A dwarf merchant, an elf mage and a human templar walks to the Grand Cathedral requesting an audience. They enter the awesome interior, the Divine sitting on the Sunburst throne. They approach it, then kneel. They are asked why they came. The mage bursts into an hour long tirade about oppression of mages, the duties of the Chantry towards them and the Maker, and the lack of any templars who were able to tell a blood mage from a court jester bursting flames. The templar asks her Perfection for new locks on every door in the Circle, so his fellows can lock all the mages up forever, never having to care about them anymore. The Divine most tired of the whole procession, turns to the dwarf, who stood in silence there increasing the curiousness of his presence. Her Perfection asks him what the purpose of his visit is. ’Most holy’ – begins the dwarf most humbly – ’I would like to request your permission to buy all this bunch and settle them in Bownammar. Any darkspawn trying to interrupt their quarrel would drop dead at their outraged gazes.’ Her Grace’s eyes went wide with shock, then let out the biggest laugh I’ve ever heard. After that the fog of awkwardness lifted and they went on to conclude business.’

[3] King Henry IV, Part I, Act 3, Scene 3.


	3. The Knight-Captain and the Knight-Commander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen agreed to Ser Herbert's request of assistance, even if that involved trusting a mage. He was not all too happy about it, but willing to do whatever proved necessary to accomplish the task. Convincing the stern and cold Knight-Commander however was an entirely another matter.

 'There occurred four cases of break-in to stores, five instances of mages caught sneaking out during the night, two cases of proven fraternization, twenty-seven cases of thievery, 112 cases of property damage...' - the voice of Elsa sounded just as indifferent and uninterested as ever. Knight-Commander Meredith tilted her head a bit towards the right in an effort to increase the blood pressure in her brain and thus prevent herself from falling asleep.

_'The same old story again and again. One would hope that stern action would teach people to refrain from such deplorable excesses, but it seems there will always be some ready to overstep regulations for some uncertain gain of dubious value...Run-aways now, blood mages later.'_ \- Meredith thought gloomily. Elsa was still reciting the list of irregularities at the tower during the last month. Her reports were always extremely detailed, but also well structured, never losing the sight of the big picture in the sea of details. She was a most faithful and efficient servant, Meredith could not have wished for a better one. Her dedication was extreme, her efficiency and knowledge in the daily running of the Circle unmatched, her loyalty beyond doubt. ' _If she were not already a tranquil –_ thought Meredith – _after one year of doing this much paperwork she most certainly would have asked to be made one.'_ Then suddenly something interesting caught her attention. 'Lyrium reserves are at 6218 vials, a decrease of 2428 from the last inventory.' - Elsa continued reciting the list that seemed only to get longer and longer with every occasion.

The Chantry and the Order have always taken lyrium trade very seriously, not only for the face value of the ore – and with that, the amount of money involved – but also because of the 'health modifying effects' it had upon its users, as they were benignly called in official Chantry reports (less generous souls just referred to them as 'dusters-eaters').

During the Storm age in the Qunari wars there were serious disturbances in lyrium supplies, with the Anduin-Belrat war in the Deep Roads and Qunari commandos raiding the supply caravans. The situation grew so disturbing, that in the Siege of Rivain, a decisive battle of the war, lyrium doses for templars had to be halved, then halved again, until 10 men had 1 large vile for a week. The Qunari relief army was pressing the templars very hard, and it was only thanks to Knight-Commander Arnaut de Guiscalin's inspired leadership that they were not slaughtered one by one, and a convoy with the Fereldan reinforcements could reach the camp.[1] After that, the Order pressed the Chantry to sign a new agreement with the dwarves of Orzammar, regulating lyrium trade, creating special units, and even building some new outposts to ensure that no disturbance should affect the lyrium supply lines again. Unfortunately, they were disbanded in the Blessed Age by Divine Theodosia III for as their power grew, so did their greed, and many sections accumulated immense wealth through notoriously corrupt methods of running the business, thus the templars were left again with only their fearsome reputation to prevent someone from trying to cross them. Now it seemed that someone was trying to cut off the Kirkwall templars from the precious ore. Should the situation go on, rations should be introduced soon, lest they should run out of supplies in a week. ' _This requires immediate action.'_ \- thought Meredith, as convinced as ever that firm and swift action was the best way to resolve the problem at hand.

'That is enough Elsa' – she said decisively – 'we should devote more attention to this issue. Have we had any reports of stealing lyrium from our stores?'. The tranquil stopped for a moment, and sat in silence, apparently thinking.

'No, Knight-Commander.' - she answered.

'It is the incoming supplies then.' - Meredith said, Elsa nodding in agreement. 'We have had reports of several attacks upon trade caravans by bandits, or beasts around Kirkwall, but as you are aware Knight-Commander, the lyrium arrives to Kirkwall mostly by sea. I recommend an investigation into the ships inventories.'

' _Good, it is commendable that she is thinking ahead, just as she always does.'_ \- Meredith thought, after which she said: 'Very well. Assemble the necessary papers for me.'

'As you wish, Knight-Commander.' - Elsa said as she stood up to leave. She was at the door by the time that Meredith added:

'And get me Knight-Captain Cullen immediately.'

'Yes, Knight-Commander.' - the tranquil replied as she left. ’ _Someone craven to face us in the face tries to stab us in the back, but I will not allow that to happen. They will pay for their insolence.’_ – Meredith promised to herself. When the reputation or the welfare of the Order was at stake, she was uncompromising, standing as a solid rock in the scummy sea.

When years before Viscount Perrin Threnhold made his coup attempt, Meredith was at the Gallows as a young Knight-Captain, fighting off the thugs the Viscount hired alongside her fellow Templars. They fought well, but surprise was on the Viscount’s side, just as superior numbers. Her comrades fell one by one, pushed back to the inner Gallows, until they were completely cornered. At that point Knight-Commander Guylian decided to save the remnants of his men and offer himself as propitiation for the Viscount’s wrath. He declared that he was ready to surrender if his Templars were promised to be left with their lives. Viscount Perrin agreed to the term, had the Templars disarmed, then ordered three magisters to be brought there, and charged the Knight-Commander with treason. The next morning Knight-Commander Guylian was hanged in the Gallows courtyard in front of all the templars brought out of their quarters (which served as interim cells) and all the mages of the Circle.

Meredith witnessed only the closing act of the ‘ceremony’, when she stopped stunned at the sight, just after she managed to escape from her cell. She spent the day trying to hide in Hightown (just the place where no sane refugee would run to, making it the perfect hiding place). It was not a really demanding endeavour. The Viscount had a lot of enemies amongst the nobility, and the Templar generally popular for their efforts in protecting the city from apostates and maleficarum, which meant that it was not really hard to find someone to hide her.

The Viscount expected the nobles trying to hide Templars of course – they harboured his enemies for long after all – and has sent his soldiers to search whenever he had at least some evidence to support such a drastic breach of the nobility’s privileges. Even so, the soldiers rarely found anything extraordinary at all – aside from the accounts at Lord Eustace’s manor that is, which showed that his wife had spent only 100 gold coins on Orlesian silk last month, indicating that either she was preparing for a party to complain about the low quality of those products, or that she was about to start a campaign of all-round boycott of Orlesian silk imports, thus providing a fresh scandal in the neighbourhood. The sympathetic nobles were expecting the City Guard, and even the mercenaries, and have prepared accordingly.

Meredith could not sit still for long however, furious beyond words over what happened in the last days. ‘This outrage cannot go unpunished!’ – she practically snarled, during perhaps the only time she has lost her cool temper since she joined the order. ‘The Viscount endangers everything the Maker entrusted to the Chantry and the Order, and slaughters his servants like animals. I will see him hanged for this!’ – she continued. Her hosts have suggested that other nobles might hide Templars as well, and some might have escaped to Darktown or the hills around the city. Meredith agreed, and began seeking them out. She managed to gather around two dozen men by the next night’s fall. They were only two dozen, but prepared now, ready to strike.

Two days after, now numbering more than 40 men-at-arms, they stroke at dawn, catching the guards at Viscount’s Keep completely off guard.[2] Some enchanters, who disagreed with the First Enchanter’s policy of strict neutrality[3] have helped them to disable the guards without much bloodshed. It only took half an hour to take the keep, and capture Viscount Perrin. The man was a tyrant, and an enemy of the Chantry, but he was brave enough to face his captors with dignity. They clapped him in irons and dragged him before Grand Cleric Elthina, usually a very gentle soul, but a furious tiger that day. She denounced the Viscount for his crimes against the Maker’s children, and the Maker himself, sentencing him to lifelong captivity. Resistance after that collapsed fairly quickly, the mercenaries either running away or getting slaughtered by the united effort of the City Guard, the Templars and the assisting mages. The Grand Cleric was absolutely impressed with Meredith’s determination and drive, appointing her the next Knight-Commander of Kirkwall.

That was the proudest day of her life, with Grand Cleric Elthena remarking ‘You have proven yourself Ser Meredith in the hour of the Chantry’s direst need. May fortune favour you in your new office and allow you to serve our Maker for long years to come. You will have to face many new challenges, and you solely will have the responsibility for dealing with them, but you may always count on the Chantry’s support, as a child turns to his mother for help, so should you.’ ‘ _I wonder where the mother turns her gaze if not at her child now.’_ – Meredith frowned. She was not going to let anyone stop her from doing her duty. She will stand vigilant, and keep all harm at bay, as long as she was going to be Knight-Commander.

It was only moments after Elsa left when two rather faint knocks could be heard on the door, and Knight-Captain Cullen stepped into the room. He has been a regular guest in the Knight-Commander’s office for years now, but he still seemed uneasy to cross the doorstep. ‘ _He fears me, just like all the others’_ – Meredith thought - ‘ _and by doing that, he will obey my instructions even when he disagrees with them.’_ Cullen stopped in the middle of the room.

‘Greetings Knight-Commander. I believe you asked for my presence.’ – he said.

‘Indeed I have.’ – Meredith replied. The room was as stern, austere, one could say – uninviting, as ever. The Gallows was not exactly the allegory of friendliness and gentleness anyway, but there was something scaring, even menacing about the Knight-Commander's personal office. Basically all quarters and studies (of which there were only a handful) looked like the same, but usually the occupant gave them a personal touch, home-like, a shelter from the world, or a place of authority, depending on their personalities.

' _Her enemies would say for sure, that she had none.'_ \- Cullen thought somewhat acidly. He had seen the room before, and measured it in some stolen moments, when he suspected he could avoid the Knight-Commander's ever-watching gaze for a heartbeat. There was indeed very little in the room that reminded anyone that its occupant was not only a Knight-Commander of the Templar Order, but a living, breathing person as well. Perhaps the great working desk was closest to that description. It stood there for more than three decades now, since Knight-Commander Guylian purchased it on an alienage sale, after a rather calamitous sequence of events, still told as a legend amongst the city elves. It was a well-constructed one, solid, almost unshakable, devoid of any unnecessary adornments, entirely dedicated to its practical purpose, just as the Knight-Commander herself. It was made of wood from Vartan however, the village where Meredith lived as a child.

The Knight-Commander would never show any affection in public, not even to the extent of having a table made of wood from her old home. _'It is a different thing however, when one keeps her predecessor's furniture.'_ \- Cullen thought. On the table stood a small carved statuette of Knight-Commander Guylian, though what it actually symbolized for her was anyone's guess, as Meredith kept her thoughts and personal feelings for herself. The other furniture was quite typical: four chairs, one entirely unremarkable for the Knight-Commander behind her desk and two others each two steps left and right before the door. The floor was covered with a red carpet, judging from the poor workmanship, originated in Kirkwall's Lowtown. Finally there were two bookshelves on the right filled with Chantry texts, and a templar shield covering two crossed swords on the wall in front of the door. Meredith seemed to be in a rather unpleasant mood – though she was hardly in a 'good mood' as people generally understood it; ever. ' _It is understandable in light of the news she just received.'_  Cullen thought. Elsa informed her of their recent discovery, just minutes before when they accidentally met in the great hall.

'Sit yourself down Knight-Captain. There is an urgent matter that needs to be brought to your attention.' - Meredith began.

'Elsa informed me of the details of your discussion Knight-Commander.' - Cullen replied.

'Good. What are your conclusions on the matter?' - Meredith said with apparent satisfaction, her tone carrying expectation.

'It is beyond doubt – Cullen began in a decisive manner, the way it was best to talk to Meredith – that someone is trying to cause damage to the Order. Their choice of target shows, that they know where our weak point is, and they mean the damage to be substantial. They also had information about the routes and procedures of supply. This all indicates that they have been planning this operation for some time, they are strong in numbers or at least in status of their accomplices, probably a rebel mage faction, junior knights who wish to make a profit in smuggling.' Meredith allowed herself a nod. She seemed very satisfied with Cullen's deductions, indicating that she reached the same conclusions.

'Very good. I agree with these evaluations. Now, you must take all the necessary action without delay. This matter tolerates none.' - she said. 

'There is one more thing that should be brought to your attention Knight-Commander.' - Cullen said. Meredith raised her left elbow in response, a sure sign that she was just as interested in what Cullen had to say as she was suspicious of it concerning some additional trouble. She was right. 'Just about an hour ago a dwarf merchant entered the Gallows – 'stormed in' would be a more adequate phrase – and demanded to see you in person in a matter of vital importance. The Knight-Lieutenant has done her best to contain his rampage, and asked for my presence. I have found out that the dwarf, called Thoren who brought us the complaint, was one of our main lyrium suppliers. He reported that the last convoy has been attacked, and the depot has been seized during a single night, all his hirelings – dwarves, coeterie thugs and Qunari – all disappeared alongside the ore.’

The news have sent Meredith – if it was possible at all – to an even more unpleasant mood. ‘I trust you have taken the adequate steps?’ – she asked.

‘Yes, Knight-Commander.’ – Cullen replied. ‘I have instructed Ser Herbert – he continued – to assemble a squad of knights and set out immediately to the spot, investigating the case. I learn he asked Ser Thrask to pay a visit to the Guard-Captain and ask her for the details on the city guard’s investigation in confidence. He suspects that whoever did this might have friends in the guard.’ ‘ _Probably he is right.’_ – Meredith frowned. ‘He is about to set out in an hour with his group.’

‘Ser Herbert…’ – Meredith appeared to think, trying to recall her memories concerning the person in question. ‘Is not he that rather…irregular Knight-Lieutenant, 174 cm high, brown hair, and who behaves like some jester?’ – she asked.

‘That he is.’ – Cullen took a deep breath, mustering all the positive attributes that he could mention in connection to Ser Herbert. ‘He also is a fine warrior, widely read in other cultures, speaking elven and qunari, and have some friends amongst the city’s nobility. He is not always…dignified, but he is authoritative when the need arises. I have full confidence in him.’ Cullen wondered for a moment whether this shall be enough, but Meredith soon nodded and said:

‘Very well, I want him to report directly to me.’ 

‘Of course Knight-Commander.’ – he replied, relieved.

‘Then it is settled. You shall attend to your other duties now.’ Meredith expected Cullen to leave now, so she was surprised when her second-in-command stayed. ‘Is there another matter you wish to discuss?’ – she asked. Cullen swallowed, then replied:

‘Yes Knight-Commander. Ser Herbert specifically requested that Enchanter Pollard may be permitted to accompany him and assist him with the investigation.’ If pure displeasure has had a face, it would be an exact copy of Meredith’s. She was visibly upset, and probably very angry as well. ‘ _Well, I knew it would not be easy._ ’ – Cullen consoled himself. He decided that he should attempt to justify the request, before Meredith had a chance to reject it outright. ‘As you are aware Knight-Commander – he began in as respectful a tone as he could ever attain – Enchanter Pollard is highly skilled in trail reading and healing magics, and well trained in ways of defence against demonic influence, all attributes, that probably will be required during the mission.’ Meredith remained very much unconvinced of the real need to attach Pollard to the mission.

‘Year after year I have been trying – she began in an angry tone – to show the mages where their place is, that they had to prove themselves trustworthy before any liberties might be granted to them, and now you are proposing to just put all our trust into one, and let him rein free in the city?’ – she said. ‘ _We can hardly clap him in chains, and ask him to keep the ‘’accessories’’ as he is helping us out.’_ – Cullen thought. Meredith continued with her outburst: ‘You say this mage is worthy of our trust, but how can we know, that he is not the precise man behind all this scheme? You said it yourself, that someone might be helping it from the inside. How can we be certain, that this mage you just recommended to be leased is not one of them? And even if he is not, what is to become of discipline in the ranks and of our reputation with the citizens? Our knights will fraternize with mages, and lower their guards, until one of them betrays our trust and sends us all deep into trouble. I will not let lower our guard, and I will not allow the citizens, who trust us to keep them safe from foul magic to see one of those who might rampage through their streets, killing their loved ones and others by the hundreds walking free with only minimal constraints on his actions? I will not allow that.’ – Meredith finished, the effort not showing on her at all. Clearly, she regarded the matter settled with that, but she still stood ready for a continuation in the combat.

During the last three years she has grown more suspicious and agitated – some even asserted, paranoid – but she seldom voiced such extreme distrust in mages. Cullen felt rather uneasy, but he sat still and listened carefully to the Knight-Commander’ s rampant storm, knowing perfectly well that arguing back would not only be useless but counter-productive as well. He has grown accustomed to dealing with people behaving such a fashion, and knew that he had to wait for them to finish, before he could take a stand.

‘ _Perhaps this should be mentioned on the recruitment poster: ‘’Duties of a Templar: 1. Hunt blood mages. 2. Watch over circle mages all day along. 3. Pray to the Maker to forgive our sins. 4. Listen patiently to a lot of ranting people, trying to stay your hand and be polite, while reaching back to No. 3. and praying to the Maker to keep this very people away from you in the future.’’ Recruitment ratios would be down to 20% in a week.’_ – Cullen found some solace in malice. Even so, Meredith has done her job well. Ever since she became Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, there was absolutely no question of anything like Kinloch Hold’s case happening in the city. She maintained a strong grip on the situation, and pursued any sign of leniency or corruption relentlessly. Her commitment to the Order and it's purposes was so strong, that even most apostates granted – very grudgingly - her sincerity in what she preached, and that she had good intentions (they also added of course that she was a tyrant, steering the Kirkwall Circle towards catastrophe) in her actions. Her devotion almost bordered on fanaticism, and her distrust for mages was burning with a flame so vivid, that it came through her usually icy behaviour in force.

_'No wonder that she and First Enchanter Orsino **[4]** could drown each other in a spoon filled with water.' _ \- in that, Cullen was probably right. Two hot-headed radicals locked up in a cockpit until one of them wins the duel. _'And their offices are looking right at each other. The Maker must have a very good sense of humor. He shall like Ser Hertbert's company.'_ \- Cullen thought.

The Knight-Commander's complete lack of confidence in mages was justified time and again, and Cullen agreed that it was better to cage the animal demanding more food, than give it to him and watch if he can restrain himself after that. Kinloch Hold cannot happen again! Cullen was determined to see to that at all costs. Still, sometimes when he was on patrol at the Wounded Coast at night, the image of that old man, Irving bumping out of the great door to the hallway at the tower, the Hero of Ferelden on his side, telling the story how he and dozens of senior and junior enchanters resisted that abomination Uldred, popped into his mind. The old man could barely stand with the aid of his stick, yet his eyes were filled with as much determination as signs of exhaustion.

_'It might be that not even loyal mages can be trusted completely, but turning down their help all the time and making them feel the distrust towards them deprives the already grossly overstretched Order of help, and pushes them towards rebellion. They can be contained in case of course, but..._ ' - Cullen supressed his doubts. _'A templar must do everything to protect the innocents, whatever that may be.' -_ he disciplined himself. Still, the point was valid: they were in dire need of help. With the Knight-Commander's recent restrictions, that was harder and harder to acquire. They needed Pollard.

'Enchanter Pollard has been a member of the Circle for thirteen years now, during which time he has never given reason to any complaint, he is a skilled mage and a loyal one.' - Cullen began. 'Ser Herbert trusts him completely, and is ready to stake his reputation on it.' - Meredith was clearly unhappy, so Cullen added. 'As am I.' The Knight-Commander was just about to interrupt Cullen, so he quickly continued: 'Our numbers are barely keeping up, our men keep falling asleep during lunch for the lack of sleep. The Order is overstretched. We simply do not have enough resources to deal with all the trouble afoot. If we are to remain effective, we have to put the loyal mages to use, something clearly more beneficial, then studying old books and cleaning up dirty alleys. Under strict supervision of course. If something were to happen, we will still be in a position to track down Pollard without much effort. I believe that the possible benefits clearly outweigh the risks.' - the Knight-Captain swallowed, awaiting the inevitable reprisal.

'Clearly...the only thing I see clearly is that you propose a volta-face and to take huge risks. I believed you to be more cautious Knight-Captain.' Cullen stood up to face his superior.

'I am cautious, our brothers and sisters will keep a close watch on Pollard. He also will be warned of the possible repercussions on both him, and the other mages, shall he prove unworthy of our trust. But I believe he will not.' Cullen said that last sentence with leaning close to the Knight-Commander. Meredith was clearly surprised that his subordinate has grown so bold to challenge her that openly. She was always aware that her second-in-command was a man of conviction, with the courage to stand up for what he believed in, an independent man, not a simple thrall. That was precisely why she choose Cullen. If trouble arose, something unexpected, he had the authority, the courage and the innovativeness to deal with it in a way her thralls never could. She had a great deal many of them, Ser Otto, Ser Karas, and the now deceased Ser Alrik. Cullen was more efficient than any of them, but of course that had its costs as well.

' _Costs exactly like that.'_ \- Meredith thought. _'I could deny him of course, but he is very insistent, and it might do more harm in the long run, than good.'_ That practically decided the matter. _'V_ ery well Cullen. I see that your stubbornness is not going to subside today. Let me be clear however: you will be held responsible for any consequences that might arise of this...experiment. Accordingly, you will monitor the progress of the investigation, and keep me updated. If there is any danger whatsoever of a misstep on the part of this Pollard, I will end this, he will be thrown to the dungeons and you shall be cleaning up pigeon-products for the rest of your service. Is that clear? _'_

Cullen was a bit surprised at Meredith's apparently quick change of heart, but relieved at the same time that the Knight-Commander relented. _'Now I only have to hope that Ser Herbert was right in his assessment.' -_ he thought. He left the realm of his thoughts to look at Meredith again. 'Yes, Knight-Commander.' - was the only answer he could think of. 

  'Dismissed, Knight-Captain.' - Meredith said. Cullen left her office in a positive mood, trusting everything to turn out according to plan. ' _Still, I shall ask for the Maker's help in this matter. It can do no wrong.'_ \- he thought. The floors of the templar quarters looked just the same they always did; a reassuring familiarity. Cullen headed to the Chapel of the Gallows to rest his mind and lighten the burden on his heart in the company of the Maker.

 

 

[1]The siege lasted for more than two years by this time, producing countless bodies on both sides, to the great distress of the peoples of Thedas and to the great sadness of the Maker. The siege camp of the united peoples of Thedas under Rivain was a miserable sight: formerly proud warriors begging helplessly for another síp of water, mothers reciting the chant in such a low and spiritless voice that no one could hear what they were saying, nobles and common folk both fighting on just because they had seen no other way to die with some dignity. Knight-Commander de Guiscalin summarized the situation in a letter to King Edgar of Ferelden as such: 'The camp is a horrible sight, some of my templars asserted that they would rather fight abominations, then witness their friends succumbing to fever and starvation, fearless warriors giving into despair. The Qunari kept on with their attacks and raids relentlessly. The men fought on with every last ounce of their strength, nobles shagging through dirt and blood, templars who have not eaten for days denying their rations for mages who healed the injured, First Enchanter Elfrida defending a squad of injured templars alone for an hour, before reinforcements could reach them. The strain on all the templars is very visible, as we do not have any lyrium left. Half of my men are useless husks lying in the dirt half mad, seeing demons everywhere. Three of the eight Knight-Commanders present had to be relieved of duty by Knight-Lieutenants, who still retained some portion of their senses. I myself only escaped the worst of the depravation because I never had to drink as much of the ore as the others to have the same effect. It is a touching sight to see my men, all handpicked since they were recruits, like that.' Thus all seemed lost, when the Maker himself intervened and two days after the letter was written, King Edgar of Ferelden broke through the Qunari lines and arrived at the camp with plenty of supplies, and thousands of fresh warriors. The Fereldans – otherwise usually despised as uncivilized dirt diggers – were greeted with echoing enthusiasm, their King given the epitome 'the Noble' by the Divine herself.' - from 'In the Maker's army – A story of the Exalted Marches and the Rivaini War' by Grand Cleric Elena of Orlais. – 7:60 Storm.

[2] ’At least not with their pants off as well.’ – commented Ser Herbert the story once.

[3] First Enchanter Antony, a mage from the Imperium and a fierce opponent of Knight-Commander Guylian declared in his famous words when he was asked to join the templars in the defence: ’I am not going to die in a fight against the city authorities just so that the templars can put a leash on the Viscount as well as they did on us.’ 

[4] Orsino became First Enchanter before 9:26 (he signed his letter to an unknown person on First Enchanter Casimira’s Staff as First Enchanter).


	4. The torments of Marlowe Dumar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once the position of Viscount of Kirkwall was one of honour and distinction, one carrying authority and influence in the Empire of Orlais. Now...now, it was the other name for 'scapegoat-for-all-the-troubles'. As he's looking forward to - rather, expecting - more trouble coming, Marlowe Dumar looks back on the story how he aquired his position.

Viscount Marlowe Dumar looked down upon his desk, resting on his left arm, while taking a hold of his head with the right one. He breathed deep, as if trying to expel all the problems of his life with the air. ' _If only it was possible, I would be better off in minutes.'_ \- he thought not with a lack of malice. He scratched his head with his right hand, trying hard to fend off the more destructive thoughts. _'Thirteen years, and every single matter only got worse. In that pace I am not going to make it through the decade.'_ Marlowe Dumar, Viscount of Kirkwall, Baron of the Green Plains, Lord of Tarnismere was forty-two years old, just about the average height. His light blue eyes have not shown any signs of his age, keeping their penetrating and yet, confidence inspiring touch. The frowns on his forehead however have given his age away – not to mention their function in indicating the level of stress his job came with.

With his short grey hair he looked over fifty, and certainly older than his real age. He was chosen Viscount by an Assémble of the nobility after the violent deposal of Perrin Threnhold, at the hands of the then Knight-Captain Meredith and Grand Cleric Elthina. Rumour had it that the choice fell upon him because of his 'benevolent neutrality' and mediation between the Viscount and Knight-Commander Guylian. Many hailed his efforts to stop the conflict before it erupted into open hostilities, but others held that he was by temperament unsuited to take a clear stance on any issue, simultaneously claiming he was concerned for his investment in firms involved in food import and several smithies over the city, that supplied the templars. Nevertheless, he did not supply troops or coin for Viscount Threnhold's attempt at ejecting the templars from the city, and he was one of the spokesmen who firstly – however cautiously – denounced him. After weeks and weeks of arguing, in endless circles it became clear, that the more powerful nobles were too wise to take up a post that could be expected to come with an immense burden upon their houses.

With the failure of the Threnhold's coup the templars’ reputation was bound to reach a new peak, with the new Knight-Commander exercising a profound influence upon the city government, if for nothing else, to ensure that never again may a Viscount dare to try going against the warriors of the Maker. The collapse of the authority of the government was also bound to incite the nobles to be bolder, and make demands they would not have dared before. Without the authority – or at least, the financial background – keeping order had to be a daunting task on it's own, with every mercenary group, thugs, cutpurses and cutthroats trying to exploit the chaos in their favour. The lesser and more ambitious nobles were mostly discredited for their support of Threnhold's policies.

 Finally, Grand Cleric Elthina summoned Lord Dumar to her study in the Chantry. It was a most humiliating experience, all the awe of the Chantry being concentrated on Lord Dumar who have taken the stairs slowly in the darkness. When he arrived, in the deserted building where only some clerics kept vigil, the Grand Cleric greeted him in her study.

'Now come in Lord Dumar, please make yourself comfortable.'  Grand Cleric Elthina was the head of the Kirkwall Chantry for one and a half decade already, surrounded by immense affection from all social classes in the city.

' _Threnhold was mad to have made a move against the templars without her consent.'_ \- Dumar thought. She was always polite and gentle, the very ideal of a Chantry mother in the eyes of her flock. She even received the 'Silver grace', a silvered piece of the flower called 'Andrastre's Grace', the highest sign of appreciation a Divine could bestow upon a member of the Chantry. Grand Cleric Elthina was truly graceful, and by far the most popular and beloved Grand Cleric in Kirkwall's long history. Naturally, she always dismissed any praise upon her person, claiming to be only a humble servant of the Maker, tenderly doing the work that was assigned to her. Few, if any have doubted the sincerity of those claims.  She was not a weak person however, as she had just shown recently.

Only weeks before she was still trying her best to mediate between the Chantry and Viscount Threnhold, an effort in which she ultimately failed, despite the fact that she enlisted some prominent personalities' help (Lord Dumar himself included) to her aid. Now that Threnhold has tried to throw the templars off Kirkwall, she had shown what kind of strength dwelled hidden behind the all-friendly appearance. The day Threnhold pulled off his coup, he sent for the Grand Cleric to be arrested, and brought before him in the Viscount's throne room. Threnhold was a courageous man, and a daring politician, but also a very inept one. Instead of treating her with as much courtesy as would have been becoming for such a high-standing and popular figure, he tried to humiliate the Grand Cleric.

His miscalculation became obvious quite soon: her Grace who has been practically dragged there by the mercenary brutes of Threnhold denounced him with all the natural fierceness that only the Chant could provide, curses ancient as the Tevinter Imperium herself, calling the man on the throne a tyrant, a brute, an enemy of all the noble and true things, comparing him to Faradegh, the Chasind king who have pushed thousands of Andrastre's early disciples to slavery under his rule, and declaring him an apostate, a horrible name for even mages who left the Chantry, but even more so for a laic, who's been excluded from the Chantry for terrible crimes. After that an enraged Viscount had her thrown into jail, another grave miscalculation. No real wonder that when Meredith and her templars stormed the keep and freed the Grand Cleric, she denounced the Viscount and declared him to be her own replacement in the dungeons. That woman, a gentle mother and a fierce defender of her flock, now invited him to a private meeting.

The study itself was a modest one, much unlike to the practically glittering offices of the Grand Clerics of Orlais, Rivain, and at least half a dozen others. Truth be told, all Grand Clerics had such offices, though they still compared poorly with the Imperial Chantry’s. It appeared that the Chantry felt that they honoured the teachings of their Prophet Andrastre about equality of all the Maker’s children[1] by investing their donations and taxes in supporting famed smiths, sculptors and painters across the land. One could even claim, that the poor folk of Thedas were supporting those artisans and craftsman out of brotherly compassion, just as it was preached by Andraste.

_‘Whatever the opinion of the others, Elthina would clearly prefer melting down those golden ornaments to buy food for the poor folk in Darktown.’_ – Lord Dumar thought with admiration. This was not the first case he felt so about the Grand Cleric either. Her reign in Kirkwall did not turn out exactly peaceful, but her bearing was exemplary. Her manners of a gentle and loving mother always helped to ease tension, if it was not always enough to defuse them. In the glowing light of the candles drawing dancing figures on the walls, she brought to bear those exact same manners. So many people hid behind pleasantness and smiling with the intent of stabbing their conversation partner in the back as soon as they can, that it was really demanding to imagine someone behaving with grace yet with a complete lack of ill intentions.  Elthina walked over to the other side of the table and sat down, eye-to-eye with Lord Dumar.

'Your Grace, let me express how grateful I am for the honour you have bestowed upon me with this invitation, and add my profound gratitude for it.' - Lord Dumar said in the best manners he could assemble, trying to not sound so formal and distanced with the Grand Cleric.

'Oh my, I was not aware that I was such an important person.' she chuckled. 'You have had a long day, and a very busy one, as had we all Lord Dumar. Now, I am sure that you are exhausted, so I have taken the liberty to ask for some refreshments.' - Elthina said. _'Playing the role of a host has made her even more gracious and kind – if that was possible at all.'_ \- Lord Dumar thought with some amusement.

'Thank you your Grace.' - he answered. It was best to wait now, and let Elthina make the first move and direct the conversation.

'I understand Lord Dumar – she began – that you have large vineyards outside the city, on the tallorian hills.' - she said.

'That is correct your Grace, I indeed am in possession of a moderate vineyard outside the city.' - Lord Dumar replied.

'Have you worked on them yourself?' - the Grand Cleric asked. Lord Dumar was very much surprised at the question, entirely unexpected.

'N-n-o-no...your Grace. I have visited it from time to time of course to check on the intendant, the books and the workers of course, and I have taken long walks amongst the lines, but I have not really picked the grapes myself, if that is what you mean.' - he uttered.

'A pity Lord Dumar.' - she said with a tone of sadness. Disregarding the still puzzled expression on her guest's face, she went on to continue by saying:

'As you know I grew up an orphan in the Chantry and as a little girl I have often been taken to work on the fields to help feeding the sisters and brothers in the Chantry. Burned brown skin, hardened hands, and a lot of sweat were the products of my time there, but I have to admit I enjoyed it tremendously. Here in Kirkwall everything is made up of stone - or clay and wood in the less fortunate districts – sometimes just feeling 'cold', with all those people coming and going around the city. Hardly an appealing environment for a little girl. Out there it was all grass and mud, with trees and bushes, with all kinds of animals and even a river. Mothers have said that it was forbidden to leave the group or wander far, but of course I did so, and it just felt exciting and wonderful, as I set out to explore the unknown. When I was 10, I used to work in a vineyard that summer, during what was probably the most enjoyable season of my life.'

Lord Dumar listened carefully to the Grand Cleric's passionate, yet soothing tale, wondering what exactly it is she are heading to with that. _'She must have a purpose with all these, I doubt it that she had called me here tonight just to chat about grapes and childhood adventures.'_ \- he thought. Elthina continued in the meantime:

'Looking back now, I think it was not only the natural excitement of nature and the unknown that attracted me, but also it's impression of simplicity: in the world of humans, the city of cold stone it all seemed to have been so complicated with everything holding a mystery, and not a good kind of that, while out there it was all what it seemed to be. Nature in it's always trustworthy form.' She paused there for a moment, sighing. 'I still wander out whenever I can, though my duties and some of my staff's concern for my health do the best to prevent those occasions from materializing.' - she said.

'Tell me Lord Dumar, do not you ever wonder why is it that with us, the ones who bear the Maker's features, everything is so complicated?'

Lord Dumar knew it only too well how complicated things can get with humans – or with elves, dwarfs and qunari for that matter. 'I think the Maker intended us to be able to experience all the wonders and complexities of his world, and we do so by recreating his system on the same level of complexity in our own communities.' - he answered. Elthina looked satisfied with the answer.

'That is certainly an interesting thought Lord Dumar, though I wonder if it would not benefit the poor, the outcast, all the third sons and daughters, the orphans and the ones in doubt if the Chantry could just provide them all the comfort of the soul and the body and lead them to the Maker's light without making them to suffer. The Maker surely did not intend us to kill each other in his name.' - Elthina looked as someone for whom this was really an important question.

'But did not Andraste wage a holy war on the Imperium, for the Maker, and with his approval?' - Lord Dumar asked doubtfully.

'That she indeed did.' -  the Grand Cleric hesitated for some time, as if she disapproved. 'She was a slave, used and abused by the Imperium for its own glory, the Imperium of the magisters who have brought the darkspawn into this world by their trespassing. The Chant sings about her resolve, her dedication to the Maker and how he helped her arms to victory in the great war against the wicked Imperium. Few however that there is book that the First Council of Cumberland adopted as part of the Chant and that describes how Andraste tried to calm her initial followers and how she went over to the camp of the pretor Arcanius asking him to improve the conditions of the slaves, and let them worship the Maker and preach his Word in peace, because He did not want anyone to die for his name to be praised.

Arcanius refused claiming that the Old Gods were the real gods in the world and they favoured his people for their dedication to them and their willingness to purge any group or individual who dares to oppose them. Andraste debated, and asked, and begged, saying that 'All the lights of men add to the Maker's glory, and so all men shall be given the chance to polish their light and shine/for the Maker rejoices in the light of the good and the true.' She was thrown out by the angry Arcanius, who rejected the chance of peace. So Andraste told her followers to prepare for a fight for not only have the Tevinters rejected the Maker's offer of his return, but have rejected the alemarri's right to follow it if they wished to do so themselves.' - Elthina has apparently finished the story. 

This was an entirely new and surprising face of the Chantry, especially coming from a Grand Cleric. Some may easily consider retelling such ‘out of the canon’ stories heresy. A tale of zealots sinning against the Maker whilst advocating his name was not completely missing from the Chant of Light, but those parts were usually downplayed in favour of those tales praising the faithful and heroes, who died for the one true faith. Clearly Elthina’s peacefulness has had a deeper and more complicated background than it was usually presumed.

‘It is very easy to do harm to the Maker’s children and similarly uncomplicated to advocate His name to justify it.’ – Elthina said. _‘It is indeed.’_ – thought Lord Dumar.

‘We have to keep watch that they do not get to harm the innocents’ – he said out loud. Elthina seemed to agree.

‘Yes, it is the duty of everyone to defend our brethren against unjust abuse whenever we can determinate that that is the case.’ – she said.

‘If one can determinate that that is the case.’ – Lord Dumar was surprised that he actually said that out loud. It was no secret kept under lock that interpretation was the heart of most debates, the shades of light as diverse as seen through a prism, but actually founding an argument upon that purely scholarly observation was hardly a winning strategy in a public debate. Luckily enough, this was not a public debate, but a private conversation albeit an important one. ‘I mean, the Chant gives us some hints, but the Maker has given us free will to make a choice what is right and what is wrong and which one we do follow.’ – Dumar added with some haste.

‘Indeed that is so Lord Dumar.’ – Elthina’s voice was warm. ‘We must never assume instantly that we know everything and we are right, let alone try to force our conclusions on quarrelling parties. There are some cases however, when we must act decisively.’ That last sentence carried a hidden weight, implying that there was more to it. ‘ _And here we go…’_ – Lord Dumar thought. _‘Now we are coming to the purpose of my visit here.’_ His instinct proved correct indeed.

‘By now you must be aware that I have requested your counsel and presence because I need your opinion on the matter of Lord Threnhold’s replacement.’ – Elthina said.

‘I do not think that I am qualified to pass an informed judgement your Grace.’ – he said cautiously. Elthina was determined however to force an answer out of Dumar.

‘You underestimate yourself Lord Dumar. You have strong ties with the Harrimans, Nordens, Lord Ifren is your second cousin. You are fairly liked by the populace and not opposed by the Templars. That makes you one of the top candidates.’ – she said.

Lord Dumar’s eyes have widened in shock, his mouth staying open. He was aware of course that he had influence in the city and his voice would be heard when the new Viscount would be chosen. He did not think much of himself as a candidate though, and did not take the idea seriously for sure, and now the Grand Cleric herself implied that he might be the man for the job. _‘Sure, that keep seems large, and the crown is pretty, just as the title, but who would want to deal with rampaging Templars, street thugs, complaining nobles, and an overbearing Orlais?’ Lord Baxter is wealthy, much liked and talented. He should do it.’_ – he thought.

‘You honor me by having such a high opinion of me Your Grace. I am of the opinion that Lord Baxter would make a fine Viscount and I am prepared to lend him my full support.’ – Dumar said.

‘I hear he is most reluctant to take up the seals of office.’ – the Grand Cleric replied.

‘ _I bet the greasy handed bastard is.’_ – Lord Dumar thought with much bitterness. ‘I am sure he can be persuaded.’ – he said.

‘I am afraid he is determined on the matter. Furthermore – the Grand Cleric said – he recommended You, for the post.’ Elthina seemed to have made up her mind already. _‘I am sure he did. Lady Baxter probably still bears some ill will for the incident that occurred at her new year’s party.’_ Lord Dumar was at a loss for a moment on what to say, especially as the Grand Cleric appeared to be much better prepared. In the end it will be her and the new Knight-Commander who decide who shall be the new Viscount. After the recent events it could not be otherwise. _‘Woe befalls upon those, ruled by a shadow king.’_ – Lord Dumar thought. _‘Perhaps I should remind them to this verse.’_  It would be a hopeless venture though. It is most probable that both the Grand Cleric, and the new Knight-Commander, Ser Meredith have made up their minds.

‘I do not think that I –‘ – Lord Dumar just began to protests, but the Grand Cleric’s facial expression has conveyed that she was absolutely unimpressed by the weak attempt. After this stillborn attempt he decided to make a last attempt at escaping from the web. ‘It is between Lord Pastorius and Lord Ifren then.’ – he began his assessment of the situation. _‘It cannot be otherwise after the unfortunate incident that effectively barred Lord Amell from Viscount’s Keep. If only it had not happened…’_ – he thought. ‘Lord Pastorius cannot fill the post of course, because of his close association with the former Viscount and his policies. I would even risk to assume’ – he winked in a suggestive way at the Grand Cleric ‘that he will soon be arrested and put on trial.’ Elthina’s face remained uninformative, but that did not stop Lord Dumar this time. ‘Even if he will not, his main support is amongst the lesser nobles and Darktown – hardly a well-regarded letter of recommendation. It should be Lord Ifren then. He has always been popular, and what’s more: respected and trusted. He is a bit old and without issue, but his credentials are supreme. With support from the Chantry and the Templars the nobility would rally unanimously around him, and with his known piety…’ – at this point the Grand Cleric suddenly interrupted him.

‘All quite true, I grant it’ – she sighed – ‘but his brother is a known apostate, and what is more: a seditionist. As this kind of reason excluded Lord Amell from consideration, I see no reason why Knight-Commander Meredith would acquiesce in his election. In fact, she already indicated that she would not do so.’ – she said. Lord Dumar was not ready to let it go just yet.

‘What is your opinion on the matter Your Grace?’ – he asked. She replied with some reluctance:

‘The Knight-Commander just proved that her judgement is fine and that she is capable of safeguarding the city. I shall act upon her advice.’ Lord Dumar was markedly dissatisfied with that and answered, almost indignantly:

‘Your Grace, we all are grateful to the Knight-Commander, but the Templars cannot decide who shall run the city! Only the nobility may decide that.’ That tone, a sure indication of despair and helpless anger induced the Grand Cleric to calm him.

‘I can assure you Lord Dumar’ – she replied gently ‘that the Templars have no such intention. We must make sure however that what happened at the Gallows can never be repeated.’

 That was sadly true. The devoured, hanging corpse of Knight-Commander Guylian in the Gallows courtyard was a powerful memento to everyone.

‘Yes, Your Grace, I concur.’ – he replied, beaten. Elthina noticed the opening gap in Lord Dumar’s resolve:

‘The Knight-Commander and I agree that with your assets and your dedication to the welfare of the city and the Chantry, you would be the perfect candidate.’ She kept a moment long pause. She was just about to continue, when refreshment finally arrived. The sister carrying the plate greeted them with a kind smile and placed it upon the table.

‘Thank you sister. Now please, be so kind and leave us alone.’ – the Grand Cleric said, turning to the Chantry sister. She nodded respectfully, then left the study. ‘Now’ – she turned back to the despairing Lord in front of her – ‘would you do that service for Kirkwall and the Chantry, and keep the Maker’s children from each other’s throats?’ – she asked.

‘ _Well, it cannot be that bad to sit on that throne, can it?’_ – the prospective Viscount thought. His election – or rather, appointment – just became a certainty. ‘Your humble servant.’ – was his only reply. Thus it was settled. An Assemblé of the nobility was called to Viscount’s Keep two days later, attended by the Knight-Commander, the Knight-Captain, the newly elected First Enchanter, Orsino – rumour had it that he was the only one willing to do a job even less appealing, than Lord Dumar’s – and the Grand Cleric herself on the galleries. When Lord Ifren put Lord Dumar’s name forward, they demonstratively stood up and started to clap. After that it all went smoothly. A candidate proposed by the most prominent noble and supported by the unanimous will of the Chantry, and the Circle (both its mage and Templar wings) impressed the nobles enough to make the vote unanimous. The electors have bickered over the ‘fundamental articles’ of course, to which every Viscount had to swear, and the merchants and artisans have organized a large protest on Viscount’s way against their exclusion from the procedure (until they were customarily dispersed by the city guard), but the ringing bells and enthusiastically cheering crowds (their tariff was calculated on an hourly basis) vested a sense of grandeur and solemnity to the ceremony.

 Thus, thirteen years ago Lord Marlowe Dumar was chosen as the new Viscount of Kirkwall, Baron of the Green Plains, Lord of Tarnismere to lead a city thrown to the brink of chaos, with very limited support, but a lot of warring interests to contend with. And so thus his torment began. ' _That was a lot of hair ago.’_ – he thought. The memory of that defining moment of his life has caused a smile of irony to appear on the Viscount’s face. ‘ _Yes, it can be that bad to be Viscount.’_ – he frowned. _‘At least the desk is great.’_ – he counted the positive aspects of his office. Unfortunately there were dismally few of them. ‘ _And now another bloody deputation. Everyone expects me to solve every petty problem of theirs, which naturally can be done only against someone else’s interest. If someone proposed to exclude all dogs from Hightown, those Maker damned nobles would spend months debating the exact height, weight, fur colour and tail length of those that would be excluded from the exclusion decree. And now this…’_ – he thought.

Over the last four years disaster came upon disaster’s heels. First the darkspawn from the Deep Roads once again, initiating the Fifth Blight, killing and ravaging – and pushing a lot of people out of their homes, right in the direction of Kirkwall. ‘ _Blighted darkspawn_.’ – the Viscount thought with unqualified anger. Quite literally in this case. It did not help either that he shared this sentiment with probably all of Ferelden. Then the refugees came in in such a quantity that the docks had to be closed, despite the quick victory the Hero of Ferelden achieved after a year. Maker knows it was a smaller miracle that no rampaging plague erupted amongst those poor sods who were stuffed at the docks for months. Then true trouble began with the Qunari landing and tensions between them and the Chantry and between the Templars and the mages quickly escalating, despite all the Viscount’s best efforts. On top of that, crime organizations still virtually controlled large parts of the city – especially at night – despite a sharp increase in the efficiency of the city guard under its new captain.

Just to complete the list, the nobles have become extraordinarily reckless and demanding. Like Lord Gunther, the head of today’s deputation. _‘The sly fox’_ – Viscount Dumar thought _‘he knows how to handle everything, as long as it has to be done only in words. He has an eye on my chair for sure, wishing to run the city – if only he knew that I have no power at all to run it…He should be welcome to try.’_ The Viscount stepped away from his desk and stepped to the window. He inhaled the fresh air as if it was life itself. He stood there for moments, then minutes, just keeping his head devoid of any ballast. Then there was a knock on the door, followed up by a figure entering the room.

Seneschal Bran bowed in a ceremonial manner as he entered the room and approached the Viscount. ' _Everything about him is so pretentious.'_ \- the Viscount thought. ' _I do wonder sometimes if he has any convictions, any beliefs, any...life, outside the uniform of his office.'_ Seneschal Bran was a tall man, about 182 cm, with a dark brown hair and a pair of eyes of matching colour. His features have never given away much about his personal feelings, aside from his dedication to ceremony, punctuality, and orderliness, all of them almost bearing on the edge of obsession. _'He is useful enough though. Not a friend to the person, but a trustee of the Viscount...any Viscount.'_ \- Dumar remarked to himself. True that was however. Seneschal Bran came from a minor noble family in the Green Plains, with a modest estate. His grandfather fought the Orlesian occupiers in the Storm Age, and rose to some fame as a commander there. His son on the other hand was a completely unremarkable country noble, whose main preoccupation was to collect the due taxes and gifts from his tenants in time. Then again, Bran was nothing like his father. He was tutored carefully, a sign of the attention his Orlesian mother has given him, and was widely read in the history, cultures and legal systems of Thedas, especially that of Kirkwall.

 When Viscount Chivalry Threnhold pulled off his coup in 9:01 Dragon he turned practically all the higher nobility and city elites against himself, and was in desperate need for obedient, faithful and capable officials to help him running the city. Especially as he was a though soldier and talented field commander, but a cultural nonentity, uttering the different taunts, swearings and other kind of foul language he picked up during his time as a mercenary, and always counting on the fist, as the last mediator of disputes to be on his side. Bran was only a young man at the time, but already showing promise, and served as a magister's aide by the end of Viscount Chivalry's reign. That was when the Viscount took notice of him, as he helped to arrest his master, a notoriously corrupt and wicked official, and then personally prosecuted him in the courts. Bran was taken to Viscount's Keep and was offered the office of private secretary to the Viscount himself. He served in that capacity for the next decade, under Viscount Perrin by that time.

When the old Seneschal – the second man of government in the city right after the Viscount himself - Patter retired, Bran was selected as his replacement. His efficiency and ability in handling delicate matters was of great help to Viscount Perrin – until he chose to disregard the Seneschal's advices completely – and as he always made sure to not be associated with any particular political current, Bran could keep his office after the fall of his master. Some argued that his chameleon nature made him unreliable, but Marlowe Dumar knew that he only changed colours when the ship was sure to go down, and thus with some supervision he could be trusted completely. After all, better an able and containable Seneschal, than a loyal and inept one.

'Your Excellency' – Bran's voice rang in the room with all the pomp that only a high-ranking official, conscious of the authority and purpose of his office could produce – 'Lord Gunther and the delegation has arrived. Shall I let them in?' - he asked.

'Oh yes, better get over with it as soon as possible. Any particular detail about their state needing my attention, before the audience?' - Viscount Dumar asked. He wanted to make sure that no sudden surprises would hit him during the audience. The situation was far too delicate already.

'As far as I have been able to observe nothing, Your Excellency. They appear calm and self-confident, which indicates that they have a card or two up their sleeves.'  - Seneschal Bran replied. ' _Of course they do, they have their money, their supporters and their hirelings, unlike me, who can only command the City Guard – on some occasions. People think that the Viscount can do much like anything he wants, while in truth the list of what one cannot do for fear of the repercussions is far longer, than what one can do for the hope of gain.'_ \- the Viscount thought.

'Very well, tell them to come in.' - he said. The Seneschal bowed ritually again, then left the room. He returned only moments later, with a group of five nobles, lead by Lord Gunther.

He was a relatively young man, 27 at the time, impulsive, impatient and somewhat overbearing, becoming of a prestigious young noble. His black hair was cut in the latest Orleasian fashion with great care. His face was bare, covered by no beard or moustache, as many forms of these were regarded as the ultimate sign of savagery in most societies, the Chasind tribes, the dwarfs and the mages (to the greatest horror of refined Orlesian ladies). His eyes were of the light blue, sitting deep and giving an impression of high intelligence and even higher self-confidence. His nose was somewhat small, which gave an unusual curve to his face. He was still handsome, and even this seeming disadvantage added to his unique impression, transformed into authority by belief. At any rate, he was a dangerous opponent by his own talents and strengths, and even more so because of the clientele he gathered around himself.

_'He would kick my back and take my seat as soon as I turn my back to him. I am not done yet though.'_ \- Viscount Dumar thought. He greeted his guests graciously, saying: 'Welcome my lords, I am delighted to have the opportunity to meet with you again.' They stopped in the middle of the room and performed the usual ritual bow. The Viscount quickly followed that up by reaching out to the figure closest to him, gathering his best manners.

'My Lord Amenar, welcome again old friend!' He shook his hand at that point and looked directly into his eyes to underline the impression of his interest in a completely dull and equally self-important person. 'How is Lady Amenar? Have the new purple silk curtains arrived yet?' - he asked. Lord Amenar, 43 at the time, whose pale skin, small brown eyes and huge stomach clearly professed to their owner's 'weighty' personality.

'She is very healthy and energetic Your Excellency, she is planning to travel to Val Royeaux to select some new puppies to breed personally.' - he answered in a slow, low tone.

'Excellent, I personally always believed that Orlesian breed is the best available, much better than those Fereldan mongrels anyway.' - the Viscount said with forced enthusiasm. He moved on to the next noble, then the next, taking care to spend the exact right amount of time with each of them, for if he spent too short a time with them, they would get seriously offended and if he would spent too much, he would risk dropping off dead with boredom. When he arrived at Lord Gunther, he switched to a still superficially friendly, but much more serious tone, paying the due respect, leader to leader. Lord Gunther took his hand and embraced it in a firm shake, another sign of his decisiveness. After that the Viscount sat in his chair, and the delegation sat down in the prepared stools, Lord Gunther in the middle, facing Dumar eye to eye.[2]

'Now my lords, I understand that you have some grievances and you require my help to redress them.' - the Viscount said. He measured every word before saying, for in the power struggle of which the round called 'conversation' was an influential part, every word served as a sinew of war – swords, shields, axes and even walls. As expected, Lord Gunther began the formal address on the matter.

'Yes, Your Excellency, and the matter in question is of the highest order of importance to the security of Kirkwall and to the welfare of her citizens.' - he said.

'In that case I can assure you that you have my full attention and that I will do everything possible to bring redress to the matter as soon as possible.' - Dumar replied. This was still the avante-guard action only, the real fight shall come soon enough though.

'Let me humbly thank you for your time and attention Your Excellency, we are aware that your burdens are numerous, so we came here only reluctantly, adding another to them. The matter at hand concerns the Templars.' With that the preliminary fight was over and the real contest began.

'I am sure that you are aware my Lords that I – the city – have no jurisdiction over the Templar order or the Circle of Magi in general. Never in the city's history has something like that been even attempted, save for one unfortunate case.'- the Viscount said. The mood suddenly became more tense and filled with indignation withheld. 'If you have experienced anything that may give reason for concern, you should pay a visit to the Grand Cleric or the Knight-Commander.'- he added. The delegation did not seem to be pleased by the answer, Lord Gunther answering as their spokesman:

'We have tried to appeal to the Grand Cleric indeed Your Excellency, but she did not agree with our assessment, and as for the Knight-Commander' -here he kept a moment of pause – 'she is the cause of the problem herself. 'That was unexpected now. There was not a single soul who dared to challenge Knight-Commander Meredith openly, yet alone to call her the cause of a problem. Only apostates dared to venture that far, and then only in private.

_'He is a courageous fool.'_ \- the Viscount thought with a mix of admiration and distaste.

'There is a lot of responsibility for the Knight-Commander's shoulders to bear, and she cannot be expected to be faultless in every action of hers.' - he replied cautiously.

'She cannot' – Lord Gunther agreed – 'but this is not a question of a one-time unfortunate incident. It is a question of policy. She claims to be defending our city, but in the process she actually is taking control of it!' - there the first sparkle of passion in those blue eyes appeared and Viscount Dumar realized just how serious the situation was. This was not a simple matter of an incident, this was a symptom of a fundamental difference in opinion between a large section of Kirkwall’s nobility and the all-powerful Knight-Commander. _‘And I am caught in the middle of it, just like always.’_ – he thought bitterly.

Thirteen years ago the support of the Chantry and Meredith herself was instrumental in his elevation to the throne of Kirkwall, and the Templar’s influence has only increased since then. His predecessor has tried to fight the Templars, and it did not do him, or the city any good. Viscount Dumar was not willing to repeat the performance, especially not in even worse circumstances. There remained the only option he always had: telling the delegation that he could do nothing, that they should do nothing, then swallow a big and tolerate the outburst of their anger and insults without as much as raising an elbow. _‘It is for the good of the city after all, another civil strife, people looting and pillaging and slaughtering each other would do no good for anyone.’_ That thought was his only solace in the matter. The responsibility and solitude of a leader.

‘I would not go that for Lord Gunther. Surely there are Templar patrols on the streets and the order is actively prosecuting known criminals along with the city guard, but concluding that the Knight-Commander should try taking over the city…’

‘By the Maker’s name, she is taking over the city!’ – one of the nobles jumped up from her chair indignantly. ‘Her men are beyond authority and touch, no one dares to oppose them! Last month when a it was found that an incident in the establishment called the Blooming Rose was initiated by a senior Templar lieutenant, the guards arriving at the spot have just let the culprit leave, and when the matter was brought to Guard-Captain Aveline’s attention, she promised to “make enquires” on the issue, and nothing happened since. When a Templar purchases something in Lowtown’s markets and refuses to pay, the merchants rather cave in and keep shut, than to risk the wrath of the Knight-Commander. And now this incident! A city guard killed by a Templar.’ – at that point her so far angry voice has assumed an ice cold colour.

‘ _Maker’s breath, this is getting worse and worse.’_ – Viscount Dumar thought. ‘ _Why was I not briefed on this? Is it possible that Bran’s diligence goes only so far?’_ There was no time to wonder though.  ‘I am aware of the incident in question, and I have ordered a full-scale investigation of the matter, and I can assure you, that I am ready to take the necessary steps, pending the result.’ – he said.

Bluffing and prevaricating are essential tools of a politician. Especially the powerless ones. If you cannot solve the problem, talk about it – that was a lesson that Dumar’s father taught him, and he remembered it well.

‘Bullshit! You say that a Templar standing over a dead guards body, his sword covered in blood, and the patrol rushing to the scene being threatened not to report the incident, for the Knight-Commander would ‘‘make them pay’’ was all just fantasy? It is just about time that the city’s government that should be protecting the citizens finally get off their arses, and try to use what little sense they have in their empty hea-‘ –

‘That it is quite enough Ser Marianne, thank you.’ – Lord Gunther suddenly interrupted his associate’s rage flow. Viscount Dumar was very grateful for this unasked but certainly timely rescue. Following the dressing-down from her master, the angry noble sat down in silence, making an even more menacing impression without words, than with them. The Viscount’s eyes have rolled over the visibly angry women whose moment of preponderance has just been brought to an abrupt end. Ser Marienne Selbrech was a minor city noble, in the retinue of Lord Gunther, a relationship between the two families that originated before the time of the Orlesian occupation. She was tall, over 180 cm, blonde and had light blue eyes, just exactly like her twin sister Ser Marlein.

_‘She is certainly less amenable though.’_ – Viscount Dumar thought with every justification. The refined curves of her face have hidden a volcano ready to burst out at any given minute. While her sister was disciplined and astute, ready for a clash without provoking it in any way, she was following a head-on confrontational tactic, relying on her impressive martial skills and forceful personality to carry her arguments to home. ‘ _She is like a ram, useful at breaching the gates, but utterly useless thereafter.’_ – Dumar thought, adding in his mind that he would much prefer to deal with her equally beautiful, but less aggressive sister. For now however he had to listen to what Lord Gunther had to say.

‘I apologize Your Excellency for the…temper, of my associate.’ The Viscount was just about to accept the apology that was not near as humble nor as sincere as was suggested by the tone, when the noble continued: ‘Her point is valid however. We must not let ourselves to be ruled by the Templar Order, for the Maker has given them no temporal power. ‘’Render unto the King the things which are the King’s and to the Maker which are the Maker’s’’[3]. So speaks the Chant. Knight-Commander Meredith claims what clearly is the King’s and asserts that she is just serving the Maker, but it is not so. We must make her understand the difference, make her understand that as much as we respect the Templar Order for their services, they are serving the Maker through serving us, His children. ‘’And so they piled in their power and in their name, claiming the name of the Maker’s sacred service to themselves.’’[4] I think it is clear that I could go on with quotations until the night descends upon us, but the point is clear. It is up to the leaders of the city now to break it to the Knight-Commander.’ – he finished.

‘ _If only it were so easy_.’ – the Viscount thought. Lord Gunther had a point of course, and Viscount Dumar wished for nothing more at the moment, than if he could get it through. Unfortunately enough, he could not. _‘Meredith has overthrown one Viscount already, and I have no desire to add another to that number.’_ – he thought. The complaint had to be dealt with however.

‘Yes my Lord’ – the Viscount began – ‘there is no difference of opinion on this issue between us. As you are aware, the Templars are under the jurisdiction of the Chantry, if there occurred any abuses of their position, the Grand Cleric and the Knight-Commander will deal with the problem and I will use all my influence upon them to bring the matters to my attention in due course.’ – he said. ‘ _All my influence! What a joke! As if I have had any.’_ – that was the part he did not want to say and that he wished if the others did not know already.

‘I am sure you will, Your Excellency.’ – Lord Gunther sounded completely convinced that this last statement was just another in the long line of stalling and postponing instruments in the Viscount’s inventory. ‘I must say with great reluctance however, that in our opinion the circumstances warrant stronger measures. A special court for example.’

The Viscount was taken completely by surprise at the idea. _‘A special court? What does that supposed to mean?’_ – he thought. Whatever it did, it probably did something along the lines ‘trouble’ and ‘upsetting factor’.

‘An interesting proposal milord. What function do you intend to give to that court precisely?’ – the Viscount asked. Lord Gunther was apparently glad to talk about the idea, elaborating cheerfully:

‘The Chantry and the Templars claim that the Order is to be treated in a special way, fitting the special task they perform. So if they intend to place it under special jurisdiction, so be it, but that does not mean that the Chantry should be in control of it. In cases when relations and interactions between the citizens of Kirkwall and members of the Templar Order are in question, a special court, numbering both city magisters and Chantry advisers should be given jurisdiction in any dispute. That would make it possible to redress any grievances and to protect our citizens without impairing the knights’ ability in any way in performing their duties.’

Now, that truly was a revolutionary idea. So far the Templars and the Circle of Magi have formed a corpus aliena, an extraterritorial, alien body in the body politic of Kirkwall. An attempt, however benign to bring the Templars under temporal jurisdiction as far as matters in relations between them and the citizens were concerned, would change that completely. That is enough reason why Meredith would never agree to it. _‘She probably would even regard the very idea as a threat to the Order and to the city – or so she would claim – and would demand that I deal with it, before she does in her own way. This is a total disaster and it seems to be getting worse and worse.’_ – just as the Viscount’s mood was, in parallel to the progress of the conversation.

‘A very novel and commendable proposal indeed milord. If you do not mind me asking, I would like to have a detailed proposal to be examined by my legal advisers before I consult the Chantry on it’s implementation.’ – he said.

‘So you agree to it?’ – Lord Gunther asked.

‘I will treat it as my first priority.’ – the Viscount answered. ‘ _After all, the Qunari are a more distant threat right now.’_ – he thought.

‘Very well Your Excellency.’ – Lord Gunther replied. ‘I will have the detailed written proposal brought to you before the night.’ The Viscount was totally devastated by the course of the conversation, but he had some breathing space at least. He expected to gain more time by carefully directing the use towards the forest of legal concerns – a swampy field, if there ever was one. Still, as long as he can postpone a final decision, he also postponed any foolish and undue action from the side of either Lord Gunther’s supporters or the Templars.

‘I am very grateful milord for the patriotic spirit that you and your companions have shown in the service of the city and me.’ – he said. Then he shook their hands again, presenting them with a face-wide smile as he showed them to the door. There he called for the guard on duty to summon Seneschal Bran who should escort the guests out of the keep. The Seneschal showed up just in a minute, and showed the way in a most gracious way. Lord Gunther turned to Viscount Dumar before saying his final goodbye, saying:

‘I am very much honoured by the attention you have given to our proposal Your Excellency, and rest assured that we will not rest in rallying for my plan – our plan - all support amongst the nobility that we can. I am also confident that if I inform Guard-Captain Aveline of the incident in question, she would not stop until she gets justice for her men.’ The Viscount’s smile froze on his face. Lord Gunther’s parting words fell as two daggers thrown with precise skill. His promise to rally the nobles meant that the plan would come to public light very soon, and some might even support this madness, while his threat to inform the Guard-Captain would ensure the bloodshed. Guard-Captain Aveline was not someone to stop before retribution was given for the injustice upon her guards, the men under her command, and Knight-Commander Meredith was equally not someone to be ordered around about her men. Viscount Dumar could not even object to those remarks now, as it would seem that he was going back on his promise of support to the plan and there could be no more ‘refinements’ and ‘corrections’ during a goodbye. _‘Well played Lord Gunther.’_ – he thought with malice.

‘Thank you milord for your dedication to the city.’ – was the only thing he could say. The nobles bowed, then turned around to follow the Seneschal as he showed them out. Viscount Dumar stepped back into his study, face to the window on which he was looking out just before the delegation arrived. He stood there in silence for some minutes, wondering over what the best course of action would be. Then he sat down in his large official chair, the size of which seemed to symbolize his burden all too well, and he did the only thing he could do: he grabbed a pen and asked Knight-Commander Meredith for help.    

 

[1] ’My hearth is yours, my bread is yours, my life is yours.

    For all who walk in the sight of the Maker are one.’ – Chanter Devons in Lothering.

[2]'Kirkwall is as refined as her great Western neighbour in matters of protocolle and etiquette, probably a legacy of the Orleasian occupation of the city long ago. One recent example is, that until recently no one was allowed to sit in „the presence” (of the Viscount). After the fall of Perrin Threnhold this directive, deemed another manifestation of tyranny was scrapped, and from there on the guests in an audience sat face to face with the Viscount himself. The only concession granted to his authority was that his large, sylvanwood chair, which was richly decorated with ornaments, and had a back (which hosted the coat-of-arms of the city), while the stools had nothing the guests could rest their backs on.'  - from 'In pursuit of Knowledge' by Chantry Scholar brother Genitivi.

[3] Canticle of Transfigurations 22:21.

[4] Canticle of Transfigurations 18:09. See the same also Transfigurations 18:10.


End file.
